


Better Than Céline and René

by rsadelle



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:10:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dude, no," Pete says. "Spencer's a multimillionaire, and he only has four clients. Plus, I know you want to hit that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Céline and René

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://mayqueen517.livejournal.com/profile)[**mayqueen517**](http://mayqueen517.livejournal.com/) for her suggestion of Tennessee when I needed a drummer.
> 
> This is an AU that does not in any way, shape, or form conform to the reality of the music business.

Pete knows his shit, so when he says, "There's this guy who's done studio work with Travie. He has a show, you should come," Spencer goes with him.

His first thought is that this time Pete doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. The guy who comes onto stage is wearing an honest-to-God bow tie, and once he's in front of the mic, a track starts looping behind him. Who the fuck loops a live show? Then the guy opens his mouth and puts his hands on the guitar, and Spencer realizes he has absolute and total control of the show. Spencer's going to make him tour with a real fucking band, but he can do whatever the hell he wants in the studio.

Halfway through the second song, the guy puts down the guitar and gets behind the drum kit. Spencer, after staring with his mouth wide open for a while, pulls out his phone and starts making notes about what he wants to put into the contract.

"I fucking told you so!" Pete yells at him between songs.

Everyone working security recognizes both Pete and Spencer, and they get waved through to backstage with a grin. It's not that big a club and they've been there before, so it's easy enough to find the door with two names on it: Patrick Stump and Mr. J Medeiros.

"Patrick!"

Patrick's head jerks up, and he whirls around to look at them, then calms down and says, "Oh, hey, Pete."

"Dude, you fucking rocked. This is Spencer."

Patrick holds out his hand; clearly, he's used to Pete's idea of normal conversation.

"Spencer's going to make you famous."

Spencer rubs his hands over his eyes. Sometimes he thinks his job would be a lot easier without Pete.

"Pete," he says, "don't help. Patrick, why have you only been doing studio work?"

Patrick shrugs. "I never wanted to be out front."

Spencer quirks an eyebrow at him. "'You could be your own spotlight'?"

Patrick grins. "It's a recent interest."

"This is perfect," Pete says. "You can get in on the ground floor."

Patrick finally seems to pay attention to Pete. "What's he talking about?"

"I'm a manager." Spencer hands over one of his cards, which Patrick barely glances at. "I'll get you gigs, organize your studio time, shepherd your career."

"No, thanks," Patrick says.

"Dude, no," Pete says. "Spencer's a multimillionaire, and he only has four clients. Plus, I know you want to hit that."

"Don't listen to him about that," Spencer says. "I don't sleep with clients."

"You slept with Brendon."

"Yes," Spencer says, looking at Patrick the whole time, "when we were seventeen."

Patrick looks at Spencer's card. "And what do you get out of it?"

"Thirty percent. It's high, but I'm worth it. And Pete's right, I'm a multimillionaire on the strength of four clients. You'll be my fifth." He grins. "If you don't call me, I'm going to show up at every one of your shows until you do. Pete's an expert stalker. I've been taking lessons."

*

Spencer doesn't have to resort to stalking. Patrick calls him three days later.

"Brendon is Brendon Urie."

"Yes. I'll give you his number if you want to ask him about me."

"No," Patrick says. "I've been checking you out. I believe you're legit."

"Okay," Spencer says, "so let's sit down and talk terms."

*

Spencer thought he knew what it was to shepherd someone through a first album, but Patrick is a genuine pain in his ass. When he's in a studio, he's driven, so much so that he burns out two producers before Spencer complains to Pete who finds him one who can handle it. And when he's not in the studio, he's still working on music.

Spencer institutes mandatory breaks, which he supervises personally because Patrick barely listens to him and certainly won't listen to anyone else.

It's a lot of work.

It also means he gets to know Patrick really well, and Patrick gets to know the rest of his clients and friends since he pretty much doesn't go anywhere anymore without dragging Patrick along to get him out of the studio every once in a while.

*

One of their excursions is to one of Brendon's local shows, where they join a collection of other friends, including Ryan and Pete, side stage.

In the middle of the show, the rest of the band leaves the stage while Brendon downs half a bottle of water and comes back to the mic.

"Some of you probably know I was in a band in high school."

The crowd yells, some louder than the others. Those are the ones who know - or hope for - what's coming.

"And in this band, we used to play a lot of covers." Brendon crosses to the other side of the stage so one of his techs can drape a bass over him.

On his side of the stage, Spencer rolls his shoulders, then changes his mind and swiftly shrugs out of his suit coat. "Hold this." He shoves it at Patrick, who takes it even though he looks confused. Pete's grinning his biggest horse-teeth grin on the other side of him.

"We're going to do one of those for you tonight." Brendon puts his mic back onto its stand. That's their cue, and Ryan goes out first, Spencer right behind him. "Ryan Ross on guitar and Spencer Smith on drums," Brendon says over the cheers of the crowd.

Spencer waves at the stadium full of kids on his way to Tennessee's kit. It's different from how he would set it up for himself, but they've done this often enough that he's used to it now.

Brendon and Ryan both turn to him, all three of them grinning, and wait for him to count them in.

Spencer loves every moment of playing "All The Small Things" to a crowd full of kids who are there to see Brendon.

Pete and Patrick are waiting when Spencer and Ryan come off stage. Patrick hands over Spencer's jacket with a dazed look on his face. Pete brays a laugh.

"I think Patrick just fell in love with you."

*

Spencer picks Patrick up. He's bound to get caught up in what he's doing and decide it's more important than Pete's party. It might be, but then both of them will have to listen to Pete bitching about it for months, and no one wants that.

After half an hour of mingling, Patrick mutters at Spencer, "We're surrounded by straight people."

Spencer spends so much time with Brendon and Sarah that he barely notices it anymore. He peers through the people crowding Pete's backyard until he spots what he's looking for. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Bob."

Patrick throws an "are you kidding me?" sort of glance at Spencer when they stop in front of Bob. He doesn't really look the height of gay manliness perched on the end of a chaise feeding a bottle to one of Frank's girls - Cherry, going by the pattern on her pants - who's cradled against his chest.

Spencer performs the introductions: "Patrick, this is Bob. He was a drummer in his high school band. Bob, Patrick. He's the other certifiably gay man at this party."

Bob looks up from the baby and must catch the skepticism on Patrick's face because he rakes him with a look. Spencer's been on the receiving end of that look, right before what still ranks as the hottest weekend of his life.

Patrick just stares back at Bob, unimpressed.

Bob laughs. "Well, that's fucking hilarious."

"I can see you're a good influence on the kids," Spencer says.

Bob shrugs. "Like they don't hear worse at home." He turns his attention back to Patrick, who still looks unimpressed and has furthermore crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know why you're not fucking Spencer."

Spencer recognizes the look on Patrick's face from the studio and intervenes before he blows up. "I don't sleep with clients."

"You dated Brendon."

"For six months, when we were seventeen."

*

"Brendon," Patrick says in the middle of one of Spencer's mandatory breaks. This time, they're playing Mario Kart, which Patrick has bargained him down to best out of three before he can go back to the studio.

"What about him?"

"You dated him."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You have to stop listening to everyone I know. We were seventeen. It was good, but it ended and Brendon's more straight than not."

*

Patrick yells at Spencer for four days about getting a band to take on the road.

Spencer finally loses his temper and yells back. "I am your fucking manager! I know what I'm doing! You will find a band or I will find one for you!"

Patrick stops yelling and stares at Spencer.

Spencer takes a couple of deep breaths. "This is going to happen whether or not you like it."

That's about all he can take, and he gets the hell out of the studio.

Brendon's house seems like a good bet, and sure enough, Brendon and Sarah are killing zombies on the XBox while Shane cheers them on and occasionally snaps photos.

"Dude," Brendon says when he looks up at Spencer, "what happened to you?"

"Patrick happened," Spencer growls. He takes a deep breath. "Brendon, I take back anything I ever said about you being hard to work with. You're a dream. You're the easiest person ever in the studio." He flops down onto the couch on the other side of Sarah and flips Shane off when he snaps a picture.

Brendon laughs. "Can I get that in writing?"

"Yes," Spencer says. "Yes, you can have anything you want."

Sarah pokes at his shoulder. "Regan's meeting us at Pete's. You should come."

Spencer sighs and hauls himself up to go with them.

Of course Patrick is already there, sitting across a table from Bob saying, "I didn't even know he could be rattled," when Spencer comes up behind him.

"Oh, he can be rattled." Bob smirks at Spencer, making Patrick twist around to see who's behind him.

"You people need to stop telling him stories about me," Spencer says.

Bob gets up, and Spencer takes his chair.

"I don't care if you play everything from accordion to zither on the album. Brendon plays everything but occasional drum fills on his. I'm not some suit trying to take over your music. I'm trying to make you better, and you're going to be better on stage if you can focus on singing, and maybe playing guitar."

"I'm not going out with anyone I don't like."

Spencer doesn't close his eyes in relief only because he senses this is not the time to show weakness. "Fine," he says. "You pick your band, and I'll handle the arrangements." He does sigh then. "I need a fucking beer. You want one?"

Patrick nods, and Spencer goes inside to get two bottles from the fridge.

*

Patrick has a list for him when he gets to the studio the next morning.

"Everyone said they'd do it, conditional on contracts."

Spencer trusts that Patrick knows what the fuck he's doing when it comes to music and musicians. "I'll get started on it. Go do your thing. Break in four hours."

Spencer has his laptop with him, as usual, and he works out the initial details in the four hours before he goes to rescue Patrick's producer and force Patrick to have lunch.

*

Patrick stops and stares at Spencer standing next to his bus, duffle over his shoulder. "You're going with me?"

"Yep." Spencer eyes the collection of bags lying around the bus that no one's doing anything about. "I might let you go by yourself later, but not the first time." He looks past Patrick at the techs. "Stop fucking around and let's get this shit loaded!"

They know better than to fuck with Spencer, and they get their shit loaded and on the road early.

*

Spencer's been on the road with Brendon enough that touring is familiar. Patrick gets used to it quickly enough, and most of the rest of his band have done this before.

Spencer was right; Patrick is better on stage when he's not trying to do everything.

Off stage, he continues to be a holy terror, headphones on and laptop open at every possible moment, undersleeping and getting crankier by the day until Spencer figures out he's forgetting to eat.

Spencer puts a stop to that. There's no way he can send Patrick out on his own after this. He can't take Zack away from Brendon, which means either he's going to have to spend all of Patrick's career touring with him or find someone else who can wrangle him.

Just the thought makes him tired. He can do tours, no problem, but Patrick isn't going to want to do anything but play music, and Spencer doesn't want to spend his whole life on the road.

*

"He's gotten really good," Brendon shouts to Spencer over the music. They're watching Patrick's last show side stage, Pete bouncing around next to them.

"I know how to pick 'em," Spencer shouts back.

"I think you mean I know how to pick 'em," Pete butts in.

Spencer grins. "Yeah, you know how to pick 'em."

The song ends, leaving it quiet enough that Pete doesn't need to shout when he says, "I don't get why you're still not hitting that."

Spencer involuntarily glances at the stage, at Patrick. "We've been through this. I don't sleep with clients." He holds up his hand. "Do not say Brendon."

Pete throws himself at Spencer's shoulders. "I wasn't. I was going to say you've never been in love with one of your clients before."

Spencer shoves him off, but can't avoid the way Brendon's looking at him too. He stubbornly turns back to the stage, analyzing the show. Patrick is a damned good musician, and after all this time, Spencer would definitely call him one of his friends. That's not his place here, though. This is his last chance to take notes about anything they need to change for the next tour.

*

"A week," Spencer said when Patrick wanted to know if he'd booked studio time yet. "You are taking a week off. So am I. You can do whatever the hell you want, just don't show up at the studio, don't bug any of the producers, and don't involve me in any of your work."

It works for about three days before Patrick shows up at his door. "I have this beat. I want your opinion."

"No," Spencer says, even though he lets Patrick in. "No work for a week."

"But-"

Spencer waves at the TV. "You can play tennis on the Wii, but no work."

Patrick makes a face at him, but picks up the other controller.

It's comfortable in a way that makes Spencer realize how much he's gotten used to Patrick's constant presence.

It's also suspicious in that Patrick doesn't even try to get him to talk about work, even when Spencer makes them both sandwiches for lunch and sits him down at the kitchen table to eat them.

It's behavior he's used to from Brendon, although with Brendon it would have been two days earlier.

"When did you become so codependent?" He asks it when Patrick's mouth is full so he has to think about it for a moment.

"I'm not codependent."

Spencer grins at him. "I'm not actually mad about it. I am friends with Brendon, remember?"

Patrick makes a face. "Right, Brendon."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "He's very clingy after tour. Now he mostly clings to Sarah." He pushes the bag of chips toward Patrick, and they finish their lunch in companionable silence.

Spencer switches them from tennis to Rock Band after lunch, and makes Patrick sing. He's hilariously bad at it. He keeps trying to sing like himself and not like whoever he's supposed to be singing like.

"I can't believe you're so bad at this," Spencer laughs after the fourth round.

"Shut up," Patrick mutters.

"No, really," Spencer says, still laughing. "You're a singer. You should be able to do this."

Patrick unbends a little and puts the mic down, turns to look at Spencer.

Spencer is completely unprepared for what Patrick does next, which is yank his head down and kiss him. Spencer kisses back for a moment, because despite his conscious effort, he hasn't actually managed to stuff down the part of him that wants this.

"No, Patrick." He does recover himself and push Patrick back. "I don't do this with clients."

Patrick crosses his arms over his chest. "Celine Dion married her manager."

"Yeah and it was creepy."

"Only because he was a million years older than her. You're three years younger than me."

Spencer takes off the guitar, both because he feels silly having this conversation with a tiny plastic guitar across his chest and because he needs a moment to think. That part of him that wants this is a hell of a lot stronger than he thought.

"And yet I'm still the rational one."

Patrick uncrosses his arms and puts his hands on Spencer's biceps. "I'm not just thinking with my dick. Neither one of us is going to screw over my musical career because I'm fucking you." He pushes his thumbs up under Spencer's sleeves and rubs them into the muscles of his arms.

Spencer is going to kill Bob if he told Patrick what that does to him.

"I really like you, Spencer."

Oh, fuck. Of course the client who actually wants to sleep with him is one who knows how to use his voice to its best advantage.

"I could fall in love with you." Patrick's hands slide up, up, up, stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, touching his shoulders. "But that's not all." Patrick leans in, so his breath ghosts over Spencer's collarbone. "Everything Bob thought he was offering me when we met? I can give you all that and more."

Spencer closes his eyes, bends his head, and stops fighting it.

Patrick kisses him hard and deep, invading Spencer's mouth with the same inexorable relentlessness he uses to get his way in the studio. He starts talking when he pulls at Spencer's clothes, filthy promises Spencer hopes he keeps.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard. Want to just turn you over the arm of the couch."

Spencer realigns himself with reality for a moment. It is his job to take care of details, after all.

"Lube in the coffee table. Should be condoms too."

The crappy thing is that Patrick has to move away from him to get them.

Patrick comes back with both things in his hands, and a smile on his face. "You keep lube and condoms in a drawer in your coffee table?"

Spencer's not embarrassed about most things, and he's had enough conversations about this one to answer without blushing. "They come in handy. I lock the drawer when Pete brings Bronx over."

Patrick laughs, and he kisses Spencer while still laughing. It's probably the best kiss yet.

Then he turns Spencer over the arm of the couch.

There's enough lube on the fingers, blunt and thick, that invade him to ease the way, but not much more than that. It's glorious. Patrick's cock is glorious too, and Spencer probably says something about it out loud going by the way Patrick chuckles, a low, dark sound that precedes Patrick gripping his hips and fucking him even harder.

Spencer comes all over the side of his couch, then thinks both that it's going to stain and that it's too bad they can't put the sound of Patrick doing this on an album. His shout would work well on the intro to the last thing Patrick played him on tour.

Spencer has Kleenex on his coffee table, too, and he makes Patrick fold the condom up in one before he lets him drop it on the floor and pull Spencer down onto the couch with him.

In the afterglow, Patrick kisses slow and lazy, like they have all the time in the world. Four days, at least, the rest of the week's moratorium on work. Knowing Patrick, he'll probably be tapping things out on Spencer's drum kit in half an hour.

*

Spencer takes Patrick with him when he gives in to Brendon's demands regarding socializing while on vacation. Sarah, Shane, and Regan are all hanging out on the back porch with Brendon when they get there, and all four of them notice Patrick holding his hand.

Shane and Regan collapse into giggles - Spencer won't be surprised if they've smoked up already - Sarah smiles at them, and Brendon looks confused.

"I thought you didn't sleep with clients."

Patrick smiles with all his teeth. "Now he doesn't sleep with anyone but me."

Spencer rubs his face with his free hand. This is going to be no end of trouble. When he looks again, a smile is spreading across Brendon's face.

"Dude, you have to let me tell Pete."

No end of trouble.


End file.
